


Bedtime Stories

by fictionallemons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester in Denial, Dirty Talk, Football | Soccer Player Sam Winchester, Happy Ending, Hook-Up, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Series, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionallemons/pseuds/fictionallemons
Summary: Dean and Sam tell each other about their hook-ups. It's just something they do sometimes. It doesn't mean anything. Then Sam hooks up with a guy.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 197





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 17 in this fic. Dean is 21.

It's just something they do sometimes. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a way to…to reassure themselves that sometimes they get to have something good, something normal. Dean had started it, way back when, but Sam had gone along with it, and not in the put-upon way he often goes along with Dean's ideas. 

Yeah, Dean started it, high on the success of getting into a particularly pretty girl's pants after a particularly dangerous hunt. He'd tumbled into the motel room bed, John long since passed out in the adjoining room after the tricky, but ultimately successful salt and burn, and started talking.

He'd described the girl and the way she tasted and the sounds she made and Sam had hummed and sighed. Dean had gotten hard again talking about how sweet she had been, how good it was. But he hadn't touched himself, and he didn't think Sam had, either. It was just, like, a bedtime story. A sort of dirty, messed up, but true bedtime story. After that first time, every month or two, when Dean has something special to report, he settles into the bed next to Sammy and tells him a story.

There are rules. Dean never does it on nights when they have to share a bed. Somehow that would cross a line. And he never touches himself, no matter how hard recounting the tale makes him. 

Sam doesn't have anything to contribute, not for a long time, and then after he turns fifteen, he finds out just how much girls dig the cute sensitive routine. He figures out that he can spin the new kid schtick into being mysterious and interesting, especially now that Dean's aged out and there's no older Winchester to mess up his game.

So now, sometimes Dean tells the stories, and sometimes Sam does. Dean always enjoys telling Sam about his latest conquest, but he actually likes it better when Sam does the talking. Sam's voice, mellow and careful, washes over him, telling him about the girl—smart, they're always smart—pretty, they're always pretty. He has to hand it to Sam, the kid's creative. He can turn those puppy dog eyes on and charm almost anyone, and he comes up with the craziest places to fool around. 'Course, he's got to be creative since privacy is a precious commodity for near-homeless teenage boys.

One night—Dean knows it's Friday, because John left early that morning and told them he wouldn't be back 'til Monday at the earliest, leaving them just enough money and a laundry list of chores—Dean's actually in bed before Sammy. Sam has friends at the latest high school. He's a junior now, and he's on the fucking soccer team. He's probably out with them, while Dean, currently jobless, spent the day waxing Baby and the evening packing salt rounds and watching _Raiders_ for the three thousandth time on basic cable.

Sam comes in after Dean's showered and in his bed closest to the door. They've got two queens in this place—when dad's not around, they can spread out and not have to flip for the lumpy pull out sofa bed. Sam doesn't turn on the light, just fumbles his way through their room in the dark.

"Heya Sammy," Dean says, and Sam jumps a little. Dean switches on the lamp between their beds. He needs to see for himself how drunk Sam is.

Sam looks at him, cheeks a little red, but that could be from the cold. He swipes his bangs back ineffectually. "Hey, Dean."

"Fun night?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam sounds strange—but not drunk. Dean smiles reassuringly. Not that he has much of a leg to stand on when it comes to judging underage drinking habits, but he still worries when his baby brother's partying and Dean's not near enough to keep him out of trouble.

"Well, I'm turning in," he says, then turns over, putting his back to the door to the bathroom. He hears Sam go in, the toilet flushing, water running. He's just brushing his teeth, skipping the shower, and Dean's still wide awake, curious as to what's got Sam so jumpy, wondering if an opportunity to grill him will present itself now or if he'll just ambush him in the morning.

Sam settles into bed, turning off the light Dean switched on before. Everything's quiet for about thirty seconds and then Sam's voice breaks the silence. Dean grins to himself, congratulating himself on his patience.

"I went to a party at Todd Meyer's place. The soccer team captain."

Dean hums to show Sam he's listening, not wanting to break the flow of words. Maybe Sam got lucky and this is one of those kind of nights. Dean doesn't examine the rush of heat the floods him at the thought of hearing Sam tell him about his latest hookup.

"A bunch of kids were there. I think his parents are out of town. Anyway—everyone on the soccer team was there. Some cheerleaders too."

 _Excellent._ Dean's never opposed to hearing about cheerleaders.

"I went down to their basement. He owns like, every video game ever made and this huge TV. Didn't really feel like drinking. Todd's brother was down there. They're twins, but fraternal. His name's Chris. I've seen him at our games—I think he's in the drama club, definitely not into sports."

Dean's initial rush at the start of this story starts to wane. Why is Sam telling him about his soccer captain's brother?

"We got to talking. We talked for like—two hours, it was weird, it went by really fast. We have a lot of the same classes, just different periods." Sam takes a deep breath that Dean can hear from across the space between their beds. "I was going to head out, you know, it was getting late, and then Chris—he kissed me."

Dean freezes. Sam's never told him about hooking up with a guy before. Hell, Sam's never even looked at a guy with interest in his eyes before. Not that's Dean's noticed, anyway. He would have remembered.

"And it was—it was, fuck. It was _good._ He's almost as tall as me, a little bit more built. Sandy blond hair, curly. He has a little cleft in his chin."

Dean wants to protest, wants to demand that Sam stop telling him about a guy, but then he realizes Sam's just doing what they always do. Their weird little thing of detailing their hook-ups to each other. So what if it's a guy and not a girl? Dean can imagine Sam's disappointed face if he started arguing about the gender of Sam's hookup. And it's not like he cares who Sammy gets off with. Why should he? He forces himself to calm down, forces himself to continue listening. Sam's voice sounds like it always does, but there's something extra there—some layer of, excitement, maybe? Or awe. Like he wasn't expecting it to be so good. Dean tunes back in.

"…he said he'd been watching me at games. Liked the way I look in the uniform."

Dean's seen Sam in his soccer uniform; it's borderline indecent, the flimsy shorts stopping mid-thigh, showing off Sam's slim but strong muscles, tanned brown and—well, the point is, Dean thinks he knows what Chris sees when he looks at Sam.

"Then he asked if I wanted to see his room." Sam's got a smile in his voice now and the heat between Dean's legs in back, in anticipation of something happening. "I didn't even notice how we got from the basement up to the second floor. I couldn't keep a thought it my head. I mean, I've never done anything with a guy before and then all of a sudden we're in his room, and he locks the door and puts on Belle and Sebastien, which made me laugh because I know how much you hate them, but it was nice." 

Dean smiles, because yeah, but then he smiles harder at the thought of Sam interrupting his gay make-out session to think about Dean's taste in music. He's a weird brother, he can admit it. Who the fuck cares, if Sam's safe at the end of the day? Dean's basic purpose in life is making his brother's life possible. Maybe that's why he likes this better than telling Sammy about his hijinks. He likes knowing Sam's found pleasure with someone—doesn't matter who.

"We kissed some more, and it was…it was just really strange to kiss someone who's basically my size. And he smelled like—like a _dude_." Sam chuckles a little, like he's amused at his own obviousness. "But—damn, he's a really good kisser. I told him that I had never kissed a guy before and he looked really surprised—I guess that's a good thing? And then he asked if I wanted to stop."

Dean holds his breath. Is that all there is—did Sammy stop just when they were getting someplace?

"And I really didn't want to stop. So I asked him if I could suck his dick."

Dean lets out the breath he's been holding and a choked kind of moan comes out with it, startling himself. _Fuck_. His own dick is hard as a crowbar, stiff against his belly. He shifts on the bed. He's not allowed to touch, that's a given, but he can't not move, just a little, as his baby brother tells him about sucking some guy's dick.

"…obviously interested, and I got down on the floor between his legs. His dick was nice—not too big, kind of thick. Thicker than mine, anyway…"

Dean's seen Sam dick on occasion, between close quarters and the occasional summer skinny-dip and he's always thought it was plenty thick and unfairly just as long as his own, maybe even a tiny bit longer, even though Sam's only just passed him up, height-wise. Stupid genes apparently didn't get the memo that the big brother was supposed to be bigger in every way. Whatever.

"…had no idea what I was doing, but I tried to think of what I like when girls blow me, and I just kind of went for it. Chris was into it, he was making all these hot fucking noises, but he pulled me off before he came. He said he'd had a bad experience with guys coming in his mouth when he told them not to, so he kind of doesn't like doing it to other people. So I jacked him a few times, and he came in my hand…"

For some reason, all Dean can think about is that his brother sucked a cock, but his mouth hasn't had come in it yet. He thinks about how hot and wet it would be to empty right into the back of S—someone's throat, to be the first jizz they'd ever tasted. His dick throbs, and he balls his hands into fists, nails biting into the skin of his palms.

"…and then we switched places and I was so fucking hard I thought I'd explode when he touched me, but he got down there, sucking me like a champ. He definitely had more experience, he did this thing with his tongue—and his fingers, shit, he pulled on my balls, which I've had girls do, but then he pushed up behind them and it felt fucking amazing. He knew exactly where to press, and he knew when I was going to come, so he pulled off and let me come on his face. Jesus fucking christ it was the hottest thing ever."

Dean's pressing himself as far as he can into the mattress without actually rubbing off on it. He can't remember the last time he was this turned on. He's imagining Sam's beautiful, thick cock fucking into a mouth, stretched pink and wide around him, hands between his legs, pressing against his perineum. Sam probably would've let him finger him in the ass, too, if he hadn't shot off first. Yeah, if Sam hadn't blown his load all over the guy's face, he could have played with Sam's hole, pressing and stretching and wriggling a finger or two inside while Sam fucked his mouth. Sam's fucking his mouth and his fingers are inside Sam and then Sam sprays his come all over his face, getting come on his cheeks and chin and lips and it drips down, getting on his amulet and—

 _Hold up_. Dean feels seconds away from coming from the barest of friction against the crummy motel sheets, but that last thought throws a wrench in his libido. Sam was fucking some guy named Chris's mouth. _Chris's_ hands were on Sam's body. _Chris's_ dick was inside Sammy's mouth. Dean makes a sound, cross between a sigh and sob.

"Uh, Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean doesn't trust himself to do more than grunt.

"I didn't—you don't mind, do you?" Sam's voice is no longer pleasantly blissed out. "I didn't think it would matter to you—"

"It doesn't," Dean manages to cut in. Because it doesn't. But his voice is shredded and he sounds angry even to his own ears. He's not angry at Sam. He's not fucking upset that Sam hooked up with a guy, okay? He's angry at himself, for twisting this all up, for thinking things that he should not be thinking about his beautiful baby brother.

He's caught, still achingly turned on, still unwilling to move, unable to touch. Scared that if he gave in and touched himself, it would be to thought of Sam coming all over his face.

There's silence for a long time. Maybe Sam's gone to sleep and Dean can slip into the bathroom and spray cold water on his dick, punch himself in the face a few times.

"Dean?" Sam's whispering, as if he's afraid of waking Dean up. "I had to tell you. The entire time I was with Chris, I wanted—I mean, I was thinking—" Dean hears Sam shift in his bed as he wills his brother to finish a goddamn sentence. "It's like it didn't happen until I tell you about it."

Dean doesn't know what to say. Or even if Sam wants him to say anything. Sam goes on, still quiet, as if he's pretending Dean maybe can't hear him. "It's like, I'm there, but I'm not there. In my head, I'm actually with you. I'm here, telling you about what I'm doing right then. It's some twisted loop, where I only hook up so I can tell you about it, and while I'm hooking up I'm thinking about—about—"

"About what, Sammy?"

"I—I shouldn't—"

"Say it, Sammy."

"I'm thinking about you," Sam's voice is so low, Dean isn't sure he really heard right. "Thinking about us, about how we talk, and we get hard, and we don't touch, because that would be—and how I want it, _so bad_."

Dean rolls out of his bed onto his knees on the floor next to Sam's head. He looks at his brother in the faint light from the alarm clock. Sam's mouth is parted and his lips look wet, like he just licked them. Dean's never wanted anything as much as he wants to taste that sweet mouth, to lick away the flavor of some other guy's dick and replace it with Dean's own taste.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's break some rules."

***

It's something they still do sometimes. On nights when they have to stay in separate beds, they settle down and tell each other bedtime stories. Still dirty, still messed up, still true. And all their stories are about each other.


End file.
